Chapter 11
I watched as Naja generously filled up my plate with heaps of scrambled eggs, strips of bacon, and a piece of peanut buttered toast lined with banana slices. It smelled delicious, and my stomach growled despite me having my fill of last night's supper.
"So much for eating light," I said when Naja finally ceased with filling my plate.
Her normally neutral face quirked with a small smile. "They starved you," she said carefully, "I see it as my duty to put muscle on those bones of yours."
"Muscles? Not skin nor fat?"
"You seem like the type who would prefer muscle," was her reply.
She was right, of course, but I said nothing, focusing instead on the near-impossible task of eating all the food she dished out for me. I scooped a forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth, and when I finished those I turned to the bacon. Juice trailed down my chin as I inhaled the bacon, but I didn't care; it was too good, and I was too hungry. My stomach felt bloated by the third strip, so I pushed the meat aside and nibbled on the toast instead.
Ramona burst from her bedroom, pulling on an expensive-looking dress coat and giving Naja a peck on the cheek. "Smells amazing," she said hurriedly, "but I only have time for something quick. The client called me in early saying there was an emergency." She rolled her eyes.
Naja handed her a sleek, pink tumbler cup. "I've been prepared. A strawberry banana mango smoothie," she added, seeing Ramona's upspoken question. Her wife exclaimed her thanks, giving Naja one last hug before running out the door.
"Where does she work?" I asked, slightly worried. If it was an emergency. . .
"She's a freelance artist," Naja snorted, turning back to scrubbing dishes. "She only has work when someone wants a commission."
Ah, so that explains all the paintings around the apartment. "I'll help," I offered, grabbing some dishes and washing them off with scalding water. Naja just nodded, moving aside so I had more room with the sink. We lapsed into silence, but not the awkward kind; it was weirdly comforting to be doing something normal like washing dishes, with the clinking of porcelain and the slight itchiness that came when the soap dried on bare skin.
The doorbell sounded, making me jump and drop the plate I was drying. A relieved breath whooshed out when I saw no cracks or chips in the fragile material. I gently set the plate down as Naja answered the door, anxious until I remembered my (very) short conversation with Ramona last night.
In walked a tall man, lean, but not too muscular. His blonde hair was well-kept, pushed back from his forehead, leaving only a few rebellious strands hanging down. The clothes he wore were professional: black slacks, shiny shoes, and a pristine white dress shirt, not a wrinkle or crease to be found. His eyes were partly hidden by his glasses, which rested on a well defined nose. The man carried a plain black briefcase. He was handsome, no doubt, but then again so was Damon, and Damon was a monster.
I remained at my place by the sink, letting them come to me. Naja seemed to sense my discomfort and stopped a good few feet away.
"Augustus, this is the doctor I mentioned yesterday, Malcolm. He'll just be doing a check up to make sure nothing is wrong," Naja said gently, stepping between me and Malcolm to gently squeeze my shoulder.
Malcolm held out a hand-- a very nice hand, I thought as I shook it-- and said a simple greeting in a low voice.
I shoved my wolf to the back, ignoring her as much as I could. "Nice to meet you," I said.
"Likewise." His smile was calm and comforting.
"Now that you've met, would you like to get started?" Naja said, leading us over to the kitchen table.
Malcolm nodded, setting his leather brief case on the wooden surface and snapping the latches open. Sitting across from the him, I couldn't see what was inside, but I admit I relaxed a bit as he pulled out a pair of blue surgeon gloves, along with various of other normal-looking doctor instruments.
"I'm just going to do a regular run down," Malcolm said quietly, tugging on the plastic gloves. "There's nothing to worry about. This will be like a yearly physical check up."
The doctor was patient, informing me of where, how, and why whenever he touched me. He listened to my breathing, checked my ears and eyes, tested my reflexes by tapping a small rubber ended tool on my knees. He wrote down notes after each time, occasionally speaking to Naja in that same low tone. Other than his explanations he was quiet, which I was thankful for; I don't think I could handle another Ramona, no matter how much I enjoy her company.
A ringing sound from Naja's pocket, indicating a phone call. She took one look at the caller ID and sighed. "It's Ramona," she said. "She's probably forgotten something. Let me take this real quick." Naja stepped out of the kitchen into the living room, close enough to keep an eye on us but far enough so that she wouldn't interrupt.
"This is to find out your blood pressure," Malcolm said, gaining back my attention. He wrapped a weird band around my upper arm and velcroed it into place. "You're going to feel some pressure. Please let me know if it gets to be too much."
I watched as he placed the round part of the stethoscope in the crook of my elbow. He squeezed a small black pump which blew air into the strap around my arm, keeping a close watch on the number dial thing. He released the air just as the pressure grew to be too much, writing down something on his pad of paper just as Naja rushed past us.
"That idiot, I swear! She has the memory of a fucking goldfish!" She stomped into their bedroom, slammed the door, and stomped out again, now carrying a big black case. "Art is her career, yet she forgets her portfolio?" She stopped in front of me. "I'm so sorry, Augustus, I have to run this to her real quick, I won't be long!"
"Ah, wait-" Before I could even get out a sentence she was out the door, cussing all the while.
And then I was left alone with the stranger.